


Lucky break

by AnythingButPink



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnythingButPink/pseuds/AnythingButPink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The silence in the rest room stretched, broken only by the ticking of the radiators and the white noise of London's evening traffic outside. Bodie still stood, thoughts in freefall, staring at Doyle...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky break

Doyle looked up from his two-fingered typing and the report that Cowley had demanded be on his desk first thing the following morning to see Bodie bounding gleefully into the room. His already beaming face brightened at the sight of Doyle and his hands were rubbing together in a familiarly happy manner.

“Who gave you the key to the swiss roll cupboard?”

Bodie spread his hands wide, raised an eyebrow and said, “You are never going to believe what Anson's had delivered to the rest room.”

Doyle rolled his head from side to side to loosen his neck muscles, wondering how a typewriter was causing him more pain on this case than the bad guys. “A dozen Cuban birds, all rolling cigars for him on their shapely thighs?”

Bodie stared into the middle distance for a moment. “That's almost enough to make me take up smoking,” he said. “Come on, Sherlock – you can do better than that.”

Doyle glared at him. “Some of us,” he said pointedly, “still have actual work to do, y'know.”

Bodie wandered closer and leaned over Doyle, his arms resting on his partner's shoulders while he read the report – slowly, so that he could savour the smell of Doyle's skin and the brush of his curls against his cheek.

“That'll do,” he declared. “You don't need to tell the Cow what the villains had for tea.”

He straightened and clapped Doyle on the shoulders. “Shift over, I'll finish this while you deduce the mystery of Anson's largesse.”

Doyle vacated his seat without complaint and watched Bodie's tongue poke enticingly between his lips as his applied his index fingers to the keys of the typewriter.

“Largesse? Doesn't sound like Anson. Sure it's not an imposter?”

“Looked like Anson, sounded like Anson and sure as hell smelled like Anson,” replied Bodie. "To be fair, he didn't exactly part with any money. More like payment in kind."

“I don't know, Bodie,” said Doyle, irritated, “a new TV? A Betamax video recorder? Bunk beds? Half a dozen Space Hoppers?”

Bodie hit the full stop key with a flourish, flicked the lever to release the paper from the cylinder and pulled out the finished report. He offered it to Doyle like a waiter showing a valued customer the wine list. Doyle's eyes flicked down to the last few lines, read swiftly, and he gave a grudging pout. “Good work, Moneypenny. We can drop it on Betty's desk on the way out.”

Bodie's eyes widened in mock horror. “Out? What about the rest room? Don't tell me I worked my fingers to the bone for nothing?”

Doyle rolled his eyes. “Anything less than Bo Derek in a bikini is going to be a disappointment, the fuss you're making. All right, come on then.”

***

The rest room door was closed as they approached it. Bodie put one hand on the door handle. “Ready?” he asked.

Doyle frowned. “It's too quiet in there for my liking. This better not be a set up Bodie – I'm not in the mood.”

Bodie gave him a look. “Not a set up. Everyone else is at that ambassadorial reception. Nobody here but us chickens, Ray. Come and see...”

He pushed the door open and gestured to the object in the middle of the room. “Ta-da!”

Doyle leaned against the door frame, wondering how his partner's childlike enthusiasm always managed to lift his own spirits too, and letting bemusement shape his features.

“They've got one of those in the pub down the road,” he said.

“Yeah, but it costs 20p to play and you have to share with the whole pub. This,” he said, running a hand lovingly along one edge, “is just for us.”

Doyle tried not to watch his partner's fingers drift along the polished wood of the pool table. “All right. One game.”

Bodie grinned at him and pulled the rack out from beneath the table.

***

It wasn't an entirely selfless gesture to let Doyle make the break. Bodie bit his lip as his partner bent down to take the shot. Doyle's arse was one of the great natural wonders of the world, whether leaned against a door, filing cabinet or car, or in graceful, poetic motion. Right now, stuck out as Doyle leaned over the table, carefully drawing back his cue arm, it was nothing less than a work of art.

The cue ball cracked into the fifteen coloured ones, scattering them across the table and sinking the yellow. Doyle grinned, straightened up and stalked around the table to line up his next shot. Bodie tried not to gaze at the fingers splayed on the baize and the cue sliding softly back and forth in the groove between Doyle's thumb and index finger. Or at the way his T-shirt, which was as closely fitted as those damn trousers, pulled tight across his lean back.

Doyle's hiss of disappointment as he failed to sink the green brought Bodie's thoughts back to the game.

“Bad luck, old man,” he said in his plummiest tones.

Doyle stood back from the table to let Bodie survey the striped balls, then leaned against the corner as his partner prepared to take his shot. He was beginning to regret the sprayed-on moleskins – the sight of Bodie's broad back angled over the baize, his muscular legs resting, parted, against the table and his trousers taut over the curve of his arse was sending more blood than was comfortable to Doyle's cock. He prayed for Bodie to miss so he could hide his arousal against the table. He watched with resignation as the striped ball glid into the far pocket.

Bodie, still low over the table, looked over his shoulder and grinned. “One all,” he said and shuffled towards Doyle to line up his second shot.

Doyle swallowed as Bodie's thigh pressed against his fingers, his hand still supporting his lean. He tried to remember if a straight man would move away from the touch. He considered all those times Bodie had laid a firm, warm hand on his back or chest, thigh or shoulder, neck or arse and decided that if a straight guy like Bodie could be that tactile, he was probably safe to leave his fingers where they were.

The cue ball smacked into the second striped ball and shunted it into a pocket.

“Two down, seven to go.”

“Cowley never said you'd been on an advanced mathematics course.”

Bodie pulled one of his clown faces.

“You're just worried this is going to cost you a drink.”

Doyle frowned. “What! I didn't take any bet with you.”

Bodie's face was impassive, save for a slight twitch of his lips. “Thought it was implicit.”

“Oh did you now?”

“Yeah,” said Bodie, moving behind Doyle and brushing against him as he passed, “although, if you want to welch...” He placed his left hand on the baize and dropped the rest of his body down behind it.

“All right, you're on, but I get to set the terms.”

Bodie sighed theatrically, and stood up again, leaning on his cue.

“Go on then.”

Doyle narrowed his eyes in thought. “So, if you win, I buy you a drink...”

“I'm liking this so far.”

“If I win...” Doyle paused, looked at his partner and gave him one of his widest grins, “If I win, you have to give up chocolate and cake for a week.”

“You're a bloody sadist. To think I defended you to Anson too.”

Doyle shrugged. “If you want to welch...” he said.

Bodie stared at him for a long moment. “You're on.”

Doyle grinned again. “Take your shot then, Hurricane Higgins...”

Bodie matched his grin and dropped back down to the table, lining up a third striped ball. He smirked to himself at the bet he'd just taken. Trust Doyle to want to punish him. His brain stuttered a little at that thought and he found his arm moving of its own volition. The cue ball swerved across the baize, clipping its target but not sinking it.

“Bollocks.”

“Never mind, old chap,” said Doyle, mimicking Bodie's earlier plumminess.

He moved round the table, lowered himself gracefully and with a whip-fast movement sank the obstinate green.

As Doyle swiftly and surgically potted his next six balls, Bodie realised he was in for a long and hungry week. Seven days without indulging his sweet tooth. With that thought, the black ball rolled across the table towards him and dropped into the pocket.

Doyle looked up from his lean over the table and winked at him. “Look on the bright side,” he said, standing up and placing his cue on the baize, “it'll be good for your waistline. You know what they say, 'A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips'.”

“Why, you little...”

Bodie dropped his cue on to the table and stepped swiftly round to grab his partner, wrapping his arms around Doyle's arms and chest.

“Never had you down as a sore loser, Bodie.” Doyle could feel Bodie's heat leeching through his shirt and hard muscle pressed against his back. Something else was going to be hard soon, he thought, if he holds on to me much longer. “Come on, mate, no hard feelings eh?”

A noise somewhere between a squeak and a snort escaped Bodie's lips and Doyle realised with surprise that it wasn't just Bodie's hard muscle he could feel. Bodie was already letting go and turning away, an uncharacteristic blush on his cheeks, but Doyle could still feel the imprint of his hard-on against his arse and his own unstoppable arousal.

 "Bodie..."

Bodie had picked up the cues and was leaning them against the wall. He didn't trust himself to reply. He heard Doyle step closer.

"Bodie."

Bodie turned his head, his face the unreadable mask he presented to much of the world outside of CI5. Only the faint flush, still staining his cheeks, belied the famous 3.7 cool.

"Just mourning that Lion bar in my locker," he said. "I'd offer it to you, but there's no point is there?"

Doyle stepped closer and leaned against the wall next to his partner, his chest tight with excitement, anticipation and more than a little fear that he'd got this wrong.

"They really all at the reception?"

Bodie frowned. "Yeah, in their best bib and tucker."

"Even the Cow?"

"Especially the Cow."

Doyle swallowed, pushed himself upright and pressed a light, dry-lipped kiss to Bodie's mouth. He opened his eyes and leaned back to observe the effect.

Bodie was staring at him, stunned into silence, a small frown crinkling his brow. At least he's not hit me, thought Doyle.

The silence in the rest room stretched, broken only by the ticking of the radiators and the white noise of London's evening traffic outside. Bodie still stood, thoughts in freefall, staring at Doyle.

"Well," said Doyle, "I'd best..."

The rest of the sentence was lost as Bodie stepped forward, clasped Doyle's face in his hands and claimed his partner's mouth with his own. Doyle slid his hands on to Bodie's hips and let the pleasure of the kiss fill him up. He could feel every one of Bodie's fingertips against his skin and started burying into his partner's shirt, pulling it up and out so that he could rest his own hands on Bodie's smooth, warm back.

Bodie rubbed his hard-on against Doyle's, provoking a throaty groan which slid down Bodie's spine and fuelled the desire growing beneath his belt. He slipped one hand on to Doyle's neck and the other to his belt buckle, fingers working quickly to undo it before moving on to unpop the button and unzip the fly of Doyle's moleskins.

Warm, silk-smooth flesh brushed against his fingers, confirming a long-held suspicion. He broke off the kiss, waited for Doyle to open his eyes and winked at him before dropping to his knees.

Doyle's breath hitched as Bodie touched his tongue to the tip of his cock and he was very glad to have already been leaning against the wall. He could feel Bodie drawing teasing licks on the head of his cock and allowed his head to fall back against the plaster, caught agonisingly between this pleasure and the anticipation of greater ecstasy to come.

As if reading his mind, Bodie slipped his hand around the base of Doyle's cock and his mouth around the rest. Doyle groaned and let his hand rise up to rest in Bodie's short, dark hair. 

He knew he wouldn't last long. As if the sensations of Bodie sucking him off weren't pushing him towards climax like a rocket, the thought, the knowledge, that it was Bodie on his knees in front of him, eager and enthusiastic, was only accelerating matters. His fingers tightened in Bodie's hair and he sucked in a short, sharp breath, as Bodie took him a little deeper into his mouth. It was too much, or just enough. Doyle whispered a warning, "Bodie...", but Bodie just increased the pressure and swallowed all that Doyle had to give as he came with a loud sigh.

Doyle sagged, panting, against the wall, head back, eyes shut and lips parted. He felt Bodie release him and opened his eyes to see his partner standing toe-to-toe with him, dark eyes shining as he licked his lips. Doyle leaned forward and kissed him, getting a buzz from tasting himself in Bodie's mouth, and dropped a hand to Bodie's crotch. He pressed his palm against the hardness there and felt Bodie's moan in his own mouth.

His fingers mirrored Bodie's earlier actions, unbuckling the belt and unfastening trousers, though they also had underwear to contend with. He wrapped his hand around Bodie's cock and gave a firm, slow pull - smiling as Bodie shut his eyes and tipped his head back. He ran his thumb in small circles through the pre-cum and leaned in towards Bodie's ear.

"Got some Vaseline in me locker if you want it."

Bodie's eyes flicked open and he beamed at his partner. Doyle grinned back and headed for the other side of the room. He returned with a small jar, which he threw at Bodie.

"All yours, sunshine," he said, thumbs hooked into the top of his trousers. "Where'd you want me?"

Bodie's gaze fell on the pool table. He tried to suppress his grin. Doyle laughed, that filthy cackle Bodie worked long and hard to hear, and made his way back to the table, where he pulled the moleskins down and leaned on the baize. 

Behind him he could hear Bodie's fingers slicking the Vaseline on to his cock and a shiver of anticipation shimmered across his skin.

"You sure about this, Ray?"

"Course I bloody am! Get a move on or they'll be back from their soiree in time to see their lovely new pool table being desecrated."

"Ooh, you sweet talker..."

"Bodie..."

Bodie slid a finger between Doyle's arse cheeks and grinned as Doyle finally stopped talking. He watched his partner's head still and then drop on to his arms as he inserted one, two and then three fingers. A gratifying sigh of loss escaped Doyle as Bodie finally slid his fingers out, and an even more pleasing growl followed when he replaced them with his cock. 

He slid his hands on to Doyle's hips as he started to rock in and out of him. "I might have to let you win a bet more often," he said.

"Lost a long-standing one with meself tonight."

"Oh, yeah? Think I lost a similar one if it makes you feel any better."

"Bodie?"

"Uh-huh?"

"A little less conversation, a little more action."

"Whatever you say, Ray," said Bodie and proceeded to fuck his partner's brains out.

***

An early call-out had sent Bodie and Doyle to Elephant and Castle to pick up an informant and deliver him to George Cowley. So it was getting on for ten o'clock when they wandered into a noisy rest room in search of coffee. Anson was lining up the yellow ball, leaning low over the same piece of baize that Doyle had muttered happy oaths into the previous night, as Bodie had come inside him with a shout.

They caught each other's eye, chewed on their grins and headed for the kettle. 

"I will concede," said Doyle quietly, as Bodie checked the water and flicked the on switch, "that was better than Bo Derek in a bikini."

Bodie looked smug. "Better than a perfect ten, eh? I'll have to remember that." He levered the lid of the biscuit tin and dipped a hand towards a Bourbon. Doyle smacked it away.

"A bet's a bet, Bodie. Seven days. You'll thank me for it when you're old and grey."

Bodie looked thoughtful. "I can't decide if the idea of you nagging me for another 50 years requires celebration or commiseration."

"Now who's doing the sweet talking?"

Bodie replaced the lid on the tin and started pouring boiled water into two clean mugs.

"Ah, Ray," he said, "I've been like one of your pool balls since I met you."

Doyle's face crumpled in puzzlement. "What?"

Bodie handed him a mug with a slightly shy smile and said simply, "Sunk."

 

_Inspired by this picture, posted by Merentha13 to the[Daily Pros Tumblr](http://dailypros.tumblr.com/):_


End file.
